If You Give a Cowboy a Whiskey
by irishais
Summary: Someday, hopefully in the far distant future, he will look back on this and laugh.


_**REQUISITIONS FORM 1033B**_

_**Or, **_

_**If You Give a Cowboy a Whiskey**_

_-irishais-_

_A/N: Gift fic for Coppelia, for Final Fantasy Exchange 2010. _

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_Assignment Number: 133AO3_

_Team Leader: Leonhart, Squall_

_Assigned Team: None. Have encountered SeeD Kinneas on mission. _

_Assignment Type: Standard Security A_

_Requested Items: High grade hollow point rounds, magic supplements optional. _

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Later on in life, he is going to look back on this and laugh, Squall thinks. But that is going to be _later_. Much later. If he's lucky, Rinoa's prophecy about work driving him into an early grave will come true, and he'll _never have to think about this again. _

He stares at his laptop screen in weary desperation, wondering why "because I want to kill someone" isn't an acceptable reason for a munitions request.

The sad part is that if Squall had bothered to double check the list of SeeDs (active and inactive, Xu had been quick to point out) in the area, he could've booked himself at another inn and been able to avoid this mess entirely, including the bruise that was blossoming along his jaw.

Of course, it all started with a bar fight last night, because pretty much no matter what town Irvine seems to be in, he is a cowboy at heart, and he is quite fond of smashing bottles on countertops and threatening anyone who calls him out on his chaps or his hair or his girlfriend.

After a moment, Squall realizes that it could be worse—Selphie _could _be here, and this inn could potentially be a smoking hole in the ground.

He banishes the thought from his mind as quickly as he can. There are only so many disaster scenarios his brain can handle before he'll have to just quit SeeD and go retire to a private island where he _never has to interact with anyone. _Again. _Ever_.

The idea is so wonderful that it almost makes him want to weep.

"Now, now," Irvine says, strolling out of the bathroom with an entirely too small towel practically glued around his waist (a mental image Squall will never be able to un-see). "There are bar fights, and then there are _bar fights_, and that fight hardly qualified as a fight. More like a scuffle. A tiff, even."

Squall deliberately ignores him, and taps a key, then repositions his fingers over the keyboard in an attempt to come up with something coherent.

The pathetic part is that the only other person besides him that will see this is Xu, and he very highly doubts that she is sympathetic to his plight at all.

* * *

_Reason: SeeD Kinneas is a moron. _

_[Delete field: __**REASON**__?]_

_[Y]_

_Reason: SeeD Kinneas used airship as a bargaining chip in an unassociated endeavor. I would also like to shoot him in the face and require something close range and painful for the job. _

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There. That has to count for _something_.

"Don't you have your own room booked? With its own shower?" Squall asks pointedly, but the words are cut off as Irvine turns on the hair dryer, and starts doing some little dance that involves entirely too much shaking of his backside for Squall's comfort.

There's always the vague hope that Irvine left at least a five minute shower's worth of hot water, but somehow, Squall doubts it.

Irvine makes kissing faces at his reflection in the tiny mirror over the dresser.

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_[Delete field: __**REASON**__?]_

_[Y]_

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"Why're you so pissed off, anyway?"

He takes a deep breath. "I'm here to perform one mission. That mission was not supposed to involve _any_ other SeeD personnel, much less an intoxicated SeeD on vacation. Who tried to wager Garden property in a poker game."

"But yeah, I mean, I had a good hand!"

"Irvine—"

"No, I mean, I was _all over that_. I totally would've won, if you hadn't shown up then, lookin' like you had a cactuar stuck between your butt cheeks, and put an end to the fun."

"You tried to bet the _ship_."

Irvine shrugged, and ran his hands through his hair. He looked like a shampoo ad, and it was _ridiculous. _Squall was going to have to introduce a regulation about haircuts, if there wasn't one already.

He makes a mental note to contact Quistis about that, as soon as he has a free, relatively _quiet_ moment to himself- quiet, of course, being the operative word in that sentence.

"I told ya, I would have won. The pot was pretty good, too."

"Irvine, it was thirty-seven gil and change."

"You know how many drinks thirty-seven gil can get you in Trabia?" Satisfied, Irvine turns away from the mirror, relaxing against the vanity in such a way that Squall will want to ensure that it's sanitized before he sets anything on there again. As it is, it's looking like he might have to burn his razor, since he's pretty sure Irvine's sitting on the handle. .

"I went into _space_ for that ship-"

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_Reason: Irvine attempted to bet the _Ragnarok_ in a poker game, against team leader's knowledge, in a backwater ass-end of the world bar. Team leader intervention was required, as was the use of force to break up the brawl that followed. _

_Additional Notes: Personal command note: SeeD Kinneas should be strung up by his toes and forced to listen to all of the "Happy Happy Chocobo" jingles for thirty-five straight hours. _

_[Please click __**SUBMIT**__ after all fields are filled out.]_

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"Besides, you ought to be in more scuffles like that. I was pretty impressed with how you beaned that guy in the head with the bar stool."

"That was a defensive maneuver, and will be reported as such," he replies through gritted teeth, gesturing toward the computer, as if it has got his briefing already typed up and ready to be sent.

Irvine snorts. "Defensive, sure."

_You will laugh about this later_, Squall repeats mentally. _If you kill him, the amount of paperwork goes through the roof._

"Anyway, I'm gonna go downstairs and get breakfast. You should come. They do good eggs here."

"Are you going to put pants on first?"

"...Oh. Yeah. I guess."

Whistling, Irvine wanders back into the bathroom, and as soon as the door is shut behind him, Squall lets out a strangled yell of frustration.

A second later, the door opens, and Irvine sticks his head out. "You say somethin'?"

It takes every last ounce of willpower that Squall has in his body not to hurl his computer at Irvine's head.

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_[Are you sure you want to close Document: __**REQUISTIONS FORM 1033B**__? Once you perform this action, you cannot undo it.]_

_[Y] _


End file.
